User blog:Phoenixandashes/Blood and Fire
Catriona-centric character short. Rated T for death and some violence. ---- The mercenaries had camped in the castle courtyard. Not only could she hear them, she could smell them, a fog of sweat, blood and ale rising in the air. They were piling bodies near the castle gates, presumably preparing to burn them in the morning. Fighting back her worry (who was on guard detail? Elliot? Namaya? Richie?) she boosted herself up to one of the carved ledges and climbed up to the battlements. There were no mercenaries up here, only numerous of dead wearing Starkhaven colours. The door that led to the keep stairs was ajar and she slipped inside, silently scaling the stairs. The corridors were also surprisingly empty: clearly the killing and the looting was over hours ago and the mercenaries were waiting for orders. She was heading to the throne room – she didn’t know what time the mercenaries would have struck, but the throne room led to every other corner of the castle, she’d be able to find some clues there – but she stopped when she saw a trail of blood, patches of increasing sizes, leading to the Prince’s study. She paused by the partially closed door and carefully reached out to push it open with the point of her dagger. As the light from the corridor torches shone into the room, Catriona felt her heart fall to the bottom of her stomach. Slumped in his high backed chair, his glassy eyes staring over his desk at a point behind her, was Prince Vael. His throat was gaping, raggedly cut, and a sword was stuck through his chest, pinning him to the chair. Judging from the pallor of his skin and the way the his muscles were sagging, the blood still damp, he had been dead for little more than an hour. An hour. She felt her throat tighten. Prince Vael was by no means a saint – and he had his enemies – but he didn’t deserve this. None of them did. She crossed the room slowly, her body moving in guarded steps without her (she was numb, her mind working overtime as she tried to piece it together. Who, how, why, what... how had they missed this? She froze again as she saw another body strewn behind the desk at the Prince’s feet. With a small strangled moan, she gently knelt by her uncle, his face contorted in a look of rage, his eyes defiantly staring at the ceiling. With a shaking hand, tears burning at the corners of her eyes, she reached out to closed his eyes. Carefully, she stood up and leant over to grant her liege lord the same courtesy, and stopped to take a steadying breath. Footsteps echoed along the corridor and Catriona’s head snapped to attention. She drew the shadows around her and, for good measure, took shelter behind the corner of a cabinet, blending perfectly with the wall. Two men, one lanky and one burly but both well equipped. They stopped at the foot of the desk and the burly one waved his arm wide to encompass the scene. “Well, captain,” he said, “he’s dead. Don’t know why the boss didn’t want him alive but...” “Hmm.” The lankier of the two, the captain, with shrewd eyes and a scarred face, frowned. “I was surprised at that as well. But orders are orders. Did your men loot them?” “Ser?” “It was a simple question, lieutenant. Did your men loot the Prince and his guard dog?” Catriona’s fist clenched at the insult but otherwise kept perfectly still. She had no doubt she could kill them both, easily even, but they were talking and she wanted the opportunity for answers. “I’m not sure, messere.” The captain stepped over her uncle’s body, kicking it aside. She clenched her fist again and bit the inside of her cheek in her anger, watching as the captain manhandled the Prince’s limbs, looking over his hands and searching his doublet. “I do not appreciate liars under my command, lieutenant.” There was a sharp whine through the air and a small, wet thunk. The lieutenant gurgled as the knife in his neck cause blood to bubble up his throat, and he crumpled to the floor in shock. The captain stepped back around the desk to his victim, retrieved his knife with a vicious tug and, while the man was still writhing in his death throes, riffled through the lieutenant’ pockets. Catriona moved silently so she was standing closer to the captain. She saw him pull a heavy ring from the lieutenant’s pocket and it finally dawned on her what he was looking for – and she should of realised sooner. The Vael family signet ring was cast in serviceable bronze, not valuable on its own, but the ring was the key to a safe stashed below the throne of Starkhaven, protecting Starkhaven’s most precious valuables. Most were symbolic - the first key to the city, Lord Vael’s Chantry amulet, other family heirlooms - but others had more tangible value: deeds to properties across the Free Marches, copies of treaties between cities and nations and so on. More importantly, the knowledge of the safe and the purpose of the ring was known only to a few of the Vael’s closest vassals and peers. It was now glaringly obvious whoever orchestrated this attack was a traitor of the worst kind, to Starkhaven and the Vaels. Catriona pressed the edge of her blade against the captain’s throat and held him down by his shoulder with her free hand. The man froze, onyx edge ice cold against his throat from the enchantment that had been folded lovingly into the dagger. “Don’t shout,” she said sweetly. “Or even move. I’m a little on edge right now, and I’d rather not kill you by accident should my hand slip. Who hired you to do this?” “Don’t know,” the man responded stiffly. “Commander takes the contracts, we just do the job.” There was no lie in his tone or his eyes and Catriona sighed. She supposed it would have been too easy for him to have some useful information. “Where are the hostages being held?” “Hostages?” the man repeated dumbly. “Yes, man, hostages. The non-combatants, the children. You...” Catriona faltered at the menacing look in the captain’s eyes. “You can’t have killed them all.” “That was the job. Not a soul in this castle lives, servant, guard or Vael.” Catriona’s hand on his shoulder went limp in shock, but her blade was still tight against his throat. The captain pushed back against her hand, the blade nicking his skin as he jumped to his feet and lunged for Catriona. She dodged reflexively and side stepped his second swing, grabbing his wrist and twisting it to open the palm, deftly plucked the ring from his hand. He growled viciously, wrenching his hand free and turning to step towards her again but she held up a finger to stop him. “You’re bleeding,” she said matter-of-factly. The captain sneered as he wiped the thin cut on his throat from where her blade had nicked him. “I’ve seen more blood than there is water in the Minanter, girl,” he snarled. “My own doesn’t scare me, especially with a paper cut like this!” Catriona shrugged, sheathing her dagger and slipping the signet ring onto her thumb. “Sometimes you don’t need to make rivers of blood to kill someone.” The captain opened his mouth to argue back, but choked on his own breath. Catriona watched calmly as the poison took hold, his limbs jerking as he tumbled to the ground, flailing and grasping at his throat as he tried to breath. Catriona stepped around his twitching form to kneel by her uncle’s corpse again, feeling lost and more than a little afraid. Taking another steadying breath, Catriona forced herself to her feet, lifting the flap of her grenade pouch. She tucked a few between some of the books in the study bookcase, another in the desk, littering the room with them until she only had one left. With one last look at her fallen liege lord and uncle, Catriona tossed the last grenade over her shoulder and sprinted down the corridor. The grenade smashed open, the gout of flame setting off a chain of explosions in the room. Shouts from the courtyard indicated that the display had not gone unnoticed, and Catriona quickly swung her legs over the battlements, carefully climbing down the wall. She looked back up at the castle, the fire spreading down the corridor and the flames licking out of the windows. It was no funeral pyre, but the mercenaries wouldn’t be able to put it out anytime soon. At least the bodies of the Vaels would be out of the reach of whoever had arranged this travesty. Catriona looked back to the signet ring on her thumb, running her finger over the embossed crest. This was not the time for grief or mourning, but for action. But what action? What, where, who, how, ''why...?' Turning away from the castle, Catriona vanished into the shadows of Starkhaven’s streets. Too many questions, not enough answers – but finding the truth was Catriona’s speciality, even if, for the moment, the only truths she would be seeking are for herself. Category:Blog posts